I am from a townhouse on calvert street
Where bees surround the wildflowers and an avalanche of mint,
Where worndown bikes are strewn on the porch
And you can smell the stew made of beets and radishes
And love slowcooks on the stove.

I am from warm hugs and my grandmother's perfume,
Endless scarves wrapped around my shoulders and 
Overflowing the closets.

I am from fluffy mashed potatoes, from cool salad with fresh squeezed lemon,
From raw garlic burning my tongue.
I am from my brother's peppering freckles. I could trace constellations on his nose.
And my mother's eyes always caught up in the sun,
Her eyes are a storm on the sea.

I am from sun soaked skin and raspberries, red currants
In green cardboard, the whirling blender and sea foam froth smoothies.

I am from libraries, fingers running alongside the spines.
I am the quiet comfort of a book,
From swash buckling adventures, 
From a world filled with footnotes,
From mysteries where you feel shivers as the detective works out the clues,
From flipping the pages in books too fast, just begging for a paper cut.

I am from the city, coffee shops and inky eyes and a practiced scowl,
From bright lights and calling a taxi and newspaper headlines. 

I am from my home, my family, my friends,
A sense of belonging.
From my hope, my faith,
And my freedom-wrenched heart that will never forget the meaning of love.